The Horn That Was Broken
by Lilan
Summary: Anyone interested in what happened with the legendary Horn of Gondor after the War of the Ring? Then read this...
1. Chapter 1

_Okay...here's something else from me. I'd like to thank my friends from the Brothers of Gondor discussion board, **Astara**, **Cressida**, and **Illwynd**, for their peer reading, nudging, comforting when things were going wrong, and simply their wonderful presence at my side while I was working on this story. I'll do what I must: this story is for you, ladies, and may it bring smiles to your faces again :)_

**Chapter 1**

_Splash…_

The droplets flew through the air and landed on Elboron's slumped back.

'Oh, will you just stop that!' he snarled at the other boy, who sighed miserably and wiped his hand on the front of his clothes.

Elboron got to his feet.

'It wasn't fair,' he proclaimed, pushing the hair out of his eyes. 'Wasn't.'

'Well, we did drop him…' Eldarion said hesitantly.

_Throw him_ would have been more accurate. Just about an hour before, the two had undertaken to entertain two-year-old Dorlas, son of the Steward's scribe. The entertainment had meant grabbing the boy's hands and feet and swaying him to and fro.

The three had been enjoying it greatly, little Dorlas not the least, when Eldarion, younger, more plump, and not as agile and strong as his friend, let go of their charge's feet. The latter promptly concluded what had seemed the best time of his short life in a stream that the Queen had ordered made in her back garden. Splashes, wails, and a good lecture from some angry nannies and mothers had followed shortly, naturally.

The judgement had been pronounced swiftly and mercilessly: no swordplay for Elboron, no riding his new pony for Eldarion, and no dessert for both.

Elboron was annoyed and was taking great efforts to let the heir to the throne know just how annoyed he was.

'For a whole week!' he lamented. 'I am not allowed to spar with Bergil for a week! And all because you couldn't hold onto his feet!'

'But…but his boot came off!' Eldarion attempted.

'So what? You should have held tighter! And now, all because of you, I'll have to miss my sparring _and_ the apricot pie!'

Eldarion sighed again. Elboron had sneaked off to the kitchens earlier in the day (he was just so lucky not to be a king's son!) and managed to find out what was to be for dessert. They both loved apricot pie…

'And Mother is angry with me, and she will tell Father, too!'

Eldarion's eyes became round.

'Will he…will he…beat you?' he breathed.

'What!' Elboron turned on his heels and stared at him. '_Beat_ me? Of course not! But he will be upset…and he will not take me for a ride to the river, as he promised.'

'Maybe he will,' Eldarion said, shrugging. 'Maybe your mother will not tell him.'

'Oh no,' Elboron sighed. 'She will. She always tells him everything.'

Eldarion went quiet. Suddenly, it dawned on him that his own father would learn about everything too…

'We shouldn't have played in that way at all,' he said.

Elboron looked at him with exasperation.

'If you had held on tighter, we would still be playing. And if you hadn't started crying too, we could have made Dorlas laugh, and it's warm and he would have dried quickly, so nothing would have happened!'

'You…you…' Eldarion was short of breath and deep red with anger. 'You are insp…insup…what your mother said!'

'And you are a cry-baby.'

'I'm not!'

'Yes you are.'

Elboron turned round and walked a couple of steps away, arms crossed at his chest. Anyone who knew Faramir the Steward of Gondor would be highly amused, for the boy's stance copied his father's perfectly.

He stood shuffling his foot on the gravel path, as if trying to get revenge at least on the Queen's garden, which was a place where his mother came very often too. Her healing herbs grew here: the Queen had offered her the spot for its excellent sunlight.

He was prepared for another round of Eldarion's fierce self-defence, but none came. Tired of waiting and already feeling a little guilty, Elboron turned to face his younger friend again, only to see he was crying quietly, wiping his nose on a sleeve now and then.

Elboron gasped and rushed to his side, trying to hug him clumsily.

'No, Eldarion, I'm sorry…please don't cry, please please! I'm not angry anymore, honest!'

'I…am not…a cry-baby,' Eldarion gulped, sniffing loudly and wiping his wet cheeks. 'Dorlas is.'

Elboron laughed.

'Of course he is! Well…he is very little, too. You know what? We shall not play with him anymore, and we shall not be in trouble.'

Both relieved to have peace again, the boys sat on the carefully-cut grass. A stranger could have thought them brothers: same raven black hair, same big grey eyes, though Eldarion's were slightly more round, giving the King's son a somewhat bewildered look. Also, he was not yet past the childish chubbiness, whereas the Steward's son was taller and thinner – skinny, in fact, – and much more restless.

When affairs of state or any other reasons caused Faramir's family move to Minas Tirith, it was only natural that these two were together. Both the King and the Steward were in favour of this arrangement; weren't the children meant to become collaborators in the future? Common playtime could only help. Certainly, there were other children too, but Eldarion and Elboron both felt very comfortable in each other's company.

The serious and somewhat reserved Eldarion suddenly discovered the pleasures he had never dreamed of. Indeed, what courtier's son or daughter would have dared get into the Houses of Healing and, in one way or another, bring from there a whole bottle of sweet-smelling dark green liquid that tasted so wonderful? Of course the Lady Éowyn later said it was a cough syrup and one was not supposed to drink it in pints and served them both right to be all itchy the morning after… And who would have been on the lookout for guards at the entrance to the throne chamber while Eldarion was trying to climb onto the throne to try it out? (He _was_ the heir to the throne, right? And Elboron had climbed the Steward's chair earlier, so it was only fair.)

And of course there was Bergil. Bergil the Strong, the Big, the Best Swordsman Ever. Was there anyone in the whole realm of Gondor who was not awed by Bergil? Certainly not among those younger than ten years of age. And Bergil lived in Emyn Arnen! Where Elboron lived! Why, Elboron could see him every day, and even spar with him!

There were pleasures in it for Elboron as well. Eldarion happened to have an Elf mother. And Elven toys, and Elven books! Even his father did not have Real Elven Books. Well, he said they were Elven, but Elboron never believed that entirely. How could they have been if his father had also said Elves had not lived in Gondor for ages (never mind how long _that_ was)?

At some point, he had also decided that he liked Eldarion, although the latter was younger.

And now, he still felt guilty for making his friend cry. He had to do something nice for him. Like…like his mother had done when his kitten was run over by a cart (he had to bite his lip at the memory not to start crying too…). She sat with him long, and then she winked and said she would show him something…and she showed him the hilt of That Same Sword she had killed the Witch-king with!

It would be so good to show Eldarion something too…but what? The Sword was in Emyn Arnen…

And suddenly, he knew what to do.

He leaned to Eldarion's ear.

'Do you want to see my Uncle Boromir's horn?' he whispered.

Eldarion shrugged, not showing much interest.

'I have seen it,' he said.

Elboron crouched in front of him, eyes glowing.

'I know you have seen it,' he said in an urgent whisper. 'But…have you **touched** it?'

The little prince's mouth fell open, his own eyes becoming even more round.

'No…' he whispered back.

'I can let you hold it,' Elboron said proudly, nodding several times, as if to give his words more weight.

Eldarion cocked his head to one side.

'Won't your father be mad?' he asked cautiously.

'But of course he won't!' Elboron cried excitedly, getting to his feet with a jump. 'Remember when we tried out the chairs in the throne chamber?'

Eldarion nodded, rubbing the spot right above his left eyebrow. The cut he had received falling from one of the aforesaid "chairs" was not painful anymore (after the Lady Éowyn's help), but there was still a tiny pink scar, to remind him of the accident.

Elboron continued, meanwhile, 'You said it was all right for you to sit there because you were the heir to the throne. Well, I'm the Steward's heir. I am going to get the Horn when I grow up, you know.'

Eldarion could not help thinking that it was all a little unfair. _He_ was not getting any important things in addition to the throne…

'All right,' he said decidedly.

At least he would get to hold the legendary Horn!

* * *

'See? It's there.'

'So high…'

'Oh, we'll get it. Give me that chair. All right, now stay here and I'll give it to you!'

Reaching up to the shelf, Elboron carefully took hold of the Horn and passed it to Eldarion. The prince gasped a little and held the heirloom to his chest with both hands. Elboron jumped off the chair.

'Look, this is where it was broken in two. Father had it mended, with silver.'

'But you can still see it was broken,' the more practical Eldarion said.

Elboron heaved an exasperated sigh.

'It has to be so, silly!'

Eldarion blinked, but wisely did not say anything else. Privately, he decided that Elboron's was a strange family. A broken horn here in the Steward's office…and at Emyn Arnen, the Lady Éowyn had a sword handle without a blade! If they were such important things, couldn't anyone have mended them properly?

'Here, let me just show you how my Uncle Boromir blew it…'

Neither of them knew how it happened. Perhaps their hands were sweaty and a little shaky with excitement…perhaps both were thinking the other one would keep hold of it better…but it happened.

With a pathetic _clink_ the Horn of Gondor fell to the stone floor right onto the spot where there was no rug, and broke in two. Again.

* * *

_TBC_


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Riiiight…just a warning before you start reading this: if anyone is a fan of a tomboy!Éowyn who hates dresses and only wants to ride her horse across the plains and feel free and kill things, kindly stop reading right here. I had not originally planned her in this story; she just came into it and demanded attention, saying she could be a loving wife and a decent, understanding mother. Yeah, I know, shame on the Shieldmaiden, for is she not supposed to be a leader of us warrior women, who dream of rivers of blood every night and loathe the very thought of a bedtime story for a kid?_

**Chapter 2**

For a dreadfully long moment, the two heirs stood there, palms pressed to their mouths, white as death.

Finally, Elboron crouched and picked up the halves with shaking hands. He was too mortified to speak and just looked up at Eldarion with horrified eyes.

The little prince swallowed hard and looked at the heavy door. Elboron knew his mind that very instant.

'No,' he whispered. 'Father is with the King…they have someone from Harad today. And Mother is in the Houses of Healing.'

'Will she be long?' Eldarion asked, some vague idea already taking shape in his head.

'I think she will…she usually comes when I'm in bed if there's someone ill,' Elboron answered, for the first time feeling grateful that his mother did so. Most evenings when she was away, he missed her and even was a little angry.

Eldarion grabbed his shoulder urgently.

'Then we have to mend it,' he said. 'Look.'

He took the halves and put them together.

'See? You can't even see it's broken. Maybe we can use wax…'

Elboron, whose eyes had lit with hope for a fleeting moment, sighed and shook his head.

'We can't,' he said sadly. 'We can't melt it here, it's summer and there's no fire! And we can't take it out to the kitchens...everyone would see us.'

Sitting down, he took one of the pieces and traced a finger along the silvered edge, eyes already filling with tears.

Eldarion sat at his side, clutching the other half in his right hand, his left one fidgeting with a pouch he always had on his belt…

'I know!' he cried suddenly, jumping to his feet. 'I know what to do!'

* * *

'I told you!' Eldarion was almost bouncing with excitement. 

Elboron eyed the Horn dubiously.

'But you can still see it's broken,' he pointed. 'And it's all…dirty.'

The Horn was indeed sticky with wax from the candle Eldarion had fished out of his pouch, but, by some miracle, it held together.

'But it's whole,' Eldarion pointed reasonably. 'And when you put it back on the shelf, no one will notice!'

Elboron sighed and climbed onto the chair again.

* * *

In a small, dimly-lit chamber, the Princess of Ithilien sat in a rocking chair with her three-year-old daughter, sighing contentedly at the chance to finally rest her aching back. It had been a hard day. There were several cases of measles in the Houses of Healing, and she had been spending all her days there. Her little Ithilwen had already been sick, but had weathered it remarkably well. Still, Éowyn changed fully every time she was returning from the Houses. She was loath to have Faramir down with measles, as grown men usually had it much worse than children. To say nothing of the necessity to keep them in bed… 

She traced a finger along a dark scratch on the girl's cheek. She was quite certain there had been nothing there in the morning…but it would take all the King's clerks to count her children's injuries.

Éowyn smiled in amusement, imagining some courtier's reaction to that. _The little one is her mother's daughter!_ they would say.

_Indeed_, she thought dryly. The girl's mother had been quiet and frightened for most of her childhood. As were many other children of that time. She was glad to have two that were so bursting with life…and bruises, scratches, and grazes would heal. She would see to it.

Finally, Éowyn got to her feet and carried the sleeping child to bed. The girl only sighed and immediately turned onto her belly. The mother smiled and stroked the dark head before taking the candle and leaving the chamber.

_Faramir must be still discussing those two embassies with the King_, she thought walking along the hallway. _Elboron is going to feel relieved at not having to talk to him tonight._ She chuckled softly at the Queen's mock-angry account of their two sons' adventures of the day. Poor little Dorlas!

The door to Elboron's room was ajar. Éowyn hesitated for an instant, but then stepped forward decidedly and entered.

Elboron was half-sitting in bed. His eyes shot up as she entered, but he only clutched the covers to himself.

Éowyn came closer and sat on the bed beside her son. Elboron looked at her, then asked quietly:

'Are you angry with me, Mother?'

'Angry?' Éowyn put an arm around his shoulders. 'Not angry, Elboron, but a little upset. As will your father be.'

Elboron caught her hand and pressed it hard to his shoulder.

'I'm sorry…' he whispered.

'Do not look so miserable, child,' she chuckled. 'I think your conscience has punished you enough, for your father and me not to be angry!'

Elboron felt a little relieved and nestled closer to Éowyn.

'Mother?' he ventured after while.

'What is it, Elboron?'

'What's conscience?'

Éowyn caught his chin and turned his face up, to meet his eyes.

'It is something that makes you feel bad if you have done a wrong thing,' she said.

Elboron frowned. 'Always?'

'Always, if you are a good person.'

'But a good person does not do bad things!'

Éowyn laughed and kissed the top of the boy's head.

'Of course they do, Elboron. But when they do, their conscience makes them feel bad and try not to do it again.'

'Has it ever made you feel bad, Mother?'

Now he was looking her straight in the eye, expectant…

Éowyn let out a choked sigh and held him close.

'It has,' she said, trying to sound as calm as always.

Elboron was not to be fooled that easily, though. _Just like his father._

'Mother…is…is this a bad question?' he asked anxiously.

She was so surprised that she released him and looked him in the eye again.

'A bad question, Elboron?'

'Father says there are bad questions that you shouldn't ask, because they make people sad…is this a bad question, Mother?'

'Not very bad, child,' she smiled reassuringly. 'Not very bad.'

'_Your duty is with your people.'_

'_Too often have I heard of duty! But am I not of the House of Eorl, a shieldmaiden and not a dry-nurse? I have waited on faltering feet long enough. Since they falter no longer, it seems, may I not now spend my life as I will?'_

'_Few may do that with honour. But as for you, lady: did you not accept the charge to govern the people until their lord's return? If you had not been chosen, then some marshal or captain would have been set in the same place, and he could not ride away from his charge, were he weary of it or no.'_

Éowyn sighed and kissed Elboron's brow.

'I shall tell you why it is a bad question, Elboron, but not now.'

'When I grow up.'

That one was an assertion rather than a question, and she could not help smiling, so often would Elboron have this for an answer.

'Perhaps a little sooner,' she promised. 'But only if you do not throw little children into the Queen's stream any more!'

'Indeed,' came from the door. Startled, they both looked up and saw Faramir standing in the doorway. The Steward had his back against the doorframe and was obviously enjoying the sight.

'It was all Eldarion, he couldn't hold Dorlas…' Elboron offered somewhat hesitantly, but soon fell silent under his father's steady gaze.

'I'm sorry…' he whispered miserably.

Faramir sat on the bed too and took the boy's arm gently.

'Elboron,' he said, 'you have had your punishment already, and neither your mother nor I are going to continue it. Now, go to sleep; it is late and we are all weary.'

Elboron nodded and settled more comfortably in bed.

'Good night, Mother, Father,' he said.

'Sleep well, son,' Faramir said, leaning to kiss his brow. 'You will need that to grow big and strong.'

'Like you and Bergil and Uncle Boromir?' Elboron yawned.

Faramir chuckled.

'Yes, like your uncle. You need to be like him to carry his Horn!'

When the Steward of Gondor was later having supper with his lady, he could not even guess the panic that his last words had thrown his son into…

* * *

_TBC_

_Thanks for reviews, everyone, and someone for the PM :) You're all great!_


	3. Chapter 3

_And now... what are our boys up to now?_

**Chapter 3**

When it was finally morning, he could not wait to see Eldarion again. But all seemed to be against that. Both of his parents had some time to spare and wanted to be with their children. Any other day, he would have been leaping into the air with joy, so rare was the occasion when they were in Minas Tirith. (He could vaguely remember the time before Ithilwen was born, when his mother would sit in her parlour making tiny clothes for the baby, and sometimes Queen Arwen would join her.) But this morning, it was terrible.

First, his father made him stand next to himself and announced that he was growing taller every hour. His mother remarked that he was too thin for her liking, but that many boys were the same as they were growing, especially if they did not have the time to eat properly. His father then said he had been quite thin himself when he was little. As had his Uncle Boromir been, too, but by the time he received the Horn, he was already a mighty warrior… at least he himself always thought so, his father said and laughed a little.

Why did he have to mention the Horn…

'Father…when shall I have the Horn?' he asked hesitantly.

Faramir ruffled his hair.

'When you grow up, son. I shall tell you when!' he said and smiled. 'We should not have to wait long for that: just look at how big you already are!'

This was just what Elboron had feared. The night before, after his father mentioned the Horn, he suddenly remembered the poor heirloom, broken again and put together with wax. He remembered how difficult it had been to make the halves keep together… how they had had to try again and again…

While it was up there on its shelf, it was safe. But what about the day when his father would give it to him for his own, before the King, and Queen Arwen, and his mother, and maybe even the King of Rohan, who was a frequent guest in Gondor with his own children... and all the nobles, too… and what if the Queen's brothers decided to come?

Half the previous night, he had been imagining the Horn falling apart yet another time in front of all those Men and Elves, and was now almost feeling sick…

'What is it, Elboron?' His father now sounded concerned and was looking at him questioningly. Why did he always have to know when something was wrong! Even Eldarion's father said he was sometimes scared of that, and Eldarion's father was the King!

For an instant, he considered telling him everything. Surely he would not be very angry! But then he remembered everything he knew about his uncle… and how much his father loved him and how sad he had been when his brother died. He knew about it; his father had told him, and he had looked _really_ sad. No, he could not tell the whole truth… but was that meant to be a lie then? He did not want to lie either.

He looked up resolutely.

'Nothing that would require your immediate attention, Father,' he said as firmly as he could, repeating what he once heard the King say. That was not a _big_ lie.

He heard his mother produce a sound that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. His father bit his lip, and his face became a little red.

'All right. But do tell me if it starts to… require my immediate attention, son,' he said and smiled.

'I shall,' Elboron promised somewhat uneasily. 'May I go and see Eldarion now?'

'You may,' his father said, nodding.

* * *

Eldarion sat and stared at his friend. The picture described by Elboron stood so vividly before his eyes that he even tried to shut them tight for a moment, but that did not help.

'Maybe… maybe I can ask Father to change it? Make a law that the Steward's heir does not get the Horn, and it has to stay in that place forever instead?'

Elboron shook his head miserably.

'Your father cannot make new laws… I know that, my tutor told me. The Council does it… and my father is Head of that!'

'Oh…'

Eldarion was suffering nearly as much as poor Elboron. After all, it was his fault too, and he had even expected his friend to say that… but Elboron had not. He was merely sitting on the soft grass, hands clasped together, shoulders slumped, head bowed – a picture of utter misery.

'If I could just die right now…' Elboron moaned, covering his face with both hands.

'No!' Eldarion gasped, frozen with shock for an instant; then he hugged his friend as tightly as he could. What awful things Elboron could say…

'It will not help,' he said, a little calmer. 'If you die, you'll go to the Halls of Waiting and you might meet your Uncle Boromir there… just imagine how mad _he_ will be!'

Elboron sighed. His dead hero uncle's wrath was the last thing he would want. Even death was of no use.

Meanwhile, Eldarion was thinking hard.

'What if we take the Horn from your father's office and take it to someone who can mend it? To some silversmith.'

Elboron brightened a little at the idea, but then shook his head, imagining the commotion that would begin if someone noticed that the Horn was not in its usual place.

Still, if they were careful… and perhaps found another horn to put on the shelf while the Horn of Gondor was being mended…

'Maybe you are right,' he said, daring to breathe a little more freely.

* * *

Opening the door to his office, Faramir was greeted by the sight of the King Elessar shuffling through a stack of documents.

'Good morrow, Sire,' he said, inclining his head slightly.

Aragorn smiled and answered the greeting.

'I needed the accounts of the flood in the valley,' he said. 'Here is a message from your uncle with very useful suggestions. I was going to have a word with you about that too, but I thought you might still be resting. You looked weary yesterday.'

'As did you,' Faramir chuckled. 'But I deem we were both too weary to even sleep. That happens.'

He read Imrahil's letter.

'Uncle mentioned this in his letter to me, which has also been delivered today. They in Dol Amroth know how to handle such disasters,' he said. 'When Boromir and I were children, we once saw a dreadful storm when we were visiting Uncle. We even escaped to 'help,' as Boromir would have it.'

Aragorn looked curious.

'What happened?' he asked.

'We both nearly drowned and learned the feel of a broad leather belt against our backsides upon being fished out of the water,' came the answer. 'Boromir certainly did.'

'I should not expect anything of the kind from the Prince!' Aragorn said.

'Neither should I,' Faramir agreed. 'It was not the Prince. Just some old man to whom we both owed our lives on that day.'

Both men laughed.

'I am glad to have something of Boromir here,' Faramir said quietly, looking towards the shelf with the Horn.

Aragorn, who stood nearer to it, looked at it too and was just about to answer that, when suddenly something caught his eye.

Carefully, he reached for the Horn and took it.

'My lord Steward, would you come here?' he beckoned. 'Some hands, apart from yours or mine, have been… holding the Horn of late.'

For some time, they looked at one of the dearest heirlooms of the House of Húrin.

'I think I know those hands,' the Steward sighed, remembering Elboron's strange behaviour of the evening before.

Aragorn sniffed the waxy Horn.

'And I think I know my wife's scented candles,' the King sighed too, remembering, in his turn, Eldarion's fascination with them and his happiness at being given one…

Faramir was suddenly overcome by a great urge to laugh.

'No… it is no matter, my lord,' he said after a while. 'I only wonder if my Rangers do not put their skills to use with their own children in the same manner now…and if this is not the truest sign of peaceful times.'

The other Ranger merely grinned at him.

* * *

Meanwhile, the two heirs to the highest houses of the realm of Gondor were skulking in the direction of the Steward's office in the Tower of Ecthelion. Elboron's eyes glittered with the excitement that gradually took a firm hold of him. He had already convinced himself that their plan was going to be as effective as it was simple. He was also starting to develop a new respect for his little friend, who had managed to find a suitable horn to use as a replacement for the one they were planning to take away.

The long hallway seemed empty, and they quickened their pace, hurrying to have the most difficult part done…

And then…

'Elboron?'

Faramir stood, his hand still on the doorknob, and eyed his son carefully. Elboron also saw the King, who nodded and smiled at him, the way he always did. This time, however, he hardly felt like returning the smile.

He turned to throw a horrified glance at Eldarion, and was relieved to see his friend hide the replacement horn behind his back and nod almost imperceptibly.

'What are you two doing here?' Faramir asked.

'We…we…' Elboron could not think of anything to say.

'I believe they are come to look at the Horn of Gondor, my lord Steward,' the King suggested.

Elboron heard a little gasp from behind and swallowed hard.

'Y-yes,' he breathed. This was the simplest explanation… and not even a lie, big or small. Now they had to get out, somehow…

'Come here, Elboron.'

Father placed both hands on his shoulders and looked at him closely.

'I have given this matter a little consideration,' he continued, 'and I do think you have grown enough now not only to look at the Horn of Gondor from a distance. I cannot see any reason why you could not carry it as your own.'

_What!_

He felt something in his stomach twist almost painfully.

'But… but why now, Father?' he managed. 'Am I so big already?'

Faramir smiled.

'To be worthy is not only to be tall and strong. You are a good boy, truthful, caring, and responsible. I believe you deserve to be given the Horn. And now… now I shall lock the door until to-morrow, until the time when we take it from there to be presented to you, my son and heir, to keep _safe and whole_ for your own son.'

Saying that, he turned and locked the door.

* * *

_TBC_

_Thank you so much for the feedback, all! I'm glad this story is producing just the effect I wanted it to :)_


	4. Chapter 4

_And finally, the last bit…_

**Chapter 4**

Crouched on the floor in his room, Elboron thought this was the worst thing that could possibly have happened to him.

He had stumbled out of the Tower with a silent Eldarion behind. They had not talked until Eldarion threw the unneeded horn away angrily and put his hand on Elboron's shoulder…

Elboron had been unable to bear _that_ touch. It had always been his father's gesture…

So he had shrugged off Eldarion's hand with what must have looked like annoyance, as his friend's eyes had instantly filled with tears. He had apologised hastily and run home.

Only now, here, sitting alone and shivering in a warm sunlit room, did he understand his mother's words about conscience…

For he had tried to tell himself that everything might yet be all right. The Horn might not fall apart during the ceremony. Even if it did…who would know it was he, Elboron, who had broken it? What if it was a maid? What if the silversmith had mended it badly?

'_To be worthy is not only to be tall and strong.'_

But that had only been an accident! He had not meant to break it!

'_You are a good boy, truthful, caring, and responsible. I believe you deserve to be given the Horn.'_

But he had lied to his father. He had not treated Uncle Boromir's Horn with care. He had made Eldarion feel bad too. How could he deserve the Horn then?

And…his father was going to tell everyone how good he was. Would he then lie too? The thought horrified him…

'Elboron, are you well?'

He looked up and saw his mother there, looking very worried. She knew that very instant that something was amiss.

She hurried to him and sat right on the floor, in her lovely yellow gown that he liked so much. She drew him to herself, pressing her lips to his brow lightly. He knew it was not a kiss; she was checking to see if he had a fever.

She appeared relieved when she looked at him again, but soon a frown creased her face anew.

'What is it, dear?'

'Mother… can I ask you something?' he asked in a tortured whisper. 'But it will be a bad question…'

Éowyn smiled and held him close.

'Ask your bad question, you little rascal.'

He breathed in deeply, plucking up his courage.

'Mother…when you did that bad thing and your conscience made you feel bad…what did you do?'

Éowyn sighed.

'There was not much I could do,' she said. 'The bad thing could not be undone. But I did one thing that helped me. I talked about it to a very good person… to your father. I told him everything.'

'And after that… did you start to feel better?'

'I did. So, Elboron… if there is something that makes you feel bad, and you do not want to tell _me_ about it, then perhaps you could talk to your father too?'

'Yes…' Elboron whispered, pressing closer to her. _Yes, that would be the best thing to do. His bad thing could not be undone either._

When he finally pulled away, there, right before them, stood his father.

Éowyn got to her feet and said, 'I have things to see to.'

She patted Elboron's head, smiled at Faramir, and was gone. Elboron breathed in deeply again.

'Father,' he said firmly, 'I can't take Uncle Boromir's Horn.'

Faramir lowered himself on the spot where his wife had been sitting.

'And why not, son?' he asked.

'Because… because we… because I was showing it to Eldarion yesterday and dropped it, and… and it broke in two.'

The worst said, words poured forth from his mouth.

'And then we tried to mend it… Eldarion had a candle, and we melted it and… it now looks good, but it's broken. And you said you wanted to give it to me on the morrow…' he stopped short.

Faramir waited, and if Elboron were able to look at him at that moment, he would have noticed a slight smile on his father's face.

'You said I deserved the Horn,' he whispered. 'I don't.'

'No,' Faramir agreed. 'Not yet, at least. But you have given me some hope that you might in the future.'

Now his eyes did shoot up. Faramir nodded.

'Yes, that is so. You confessed that it was your fault and did not try to blame it on Eldarion, the way you did last time. You understand that you have done wrong – do you know why, Elboron?'

'It's Uncle Boromir's Horn and it's very important and I…'

Faramir shook his head.

'No, Elboron, this is not all. The Horn is just a thing… I should be sad if it were lost, but its loss would not be irreparable. But one day you will be entrusted with things far more valuable and important than this. What will happen if you only see them as something for play? Tell me now… what did Eldarion do when you suggested playing with Dorlas or taking the Horn to look at?'

'Er… nothing,' Elboron replied, puzzled. 'He just did what…'

'Did what you told him to?'

He nodded. Meanwhile, Faramir continued, in a very calm and level voice.

'And one day he is going to become King, and you his Steward, the adviser to the King. And all the advice you give him will have to be well thought over, because you will not have merely your playroom to rule. You will have a kingdom. Yesterday, you only scared and hurt poor little Dorlas and broke a horn. Now, what may happen when you grow up and are strong and have armies at your command and a King who listens to you – but are not responsible or do not care about other people?'

'I may hurt those people then too…' Elboron whispered. 'But… but I don't want to, Father, I don't!'

'I know you don't,' Faramir said, smiling at him again. 'I do not believe you will. You are a good boy and will one day grow up to be a good man. But even very good people sometimes…'

'…do bad things,' Elboron finished. 'I know, Mother told me.'

Faramir placed both hands on his shoulders, the way he often did.

'And she was right. It is important to remember this, always. And try to put things back to rights, if it is possible.'

Elboron released a sigh.

'We did try to mend Uncle Boromir's Horn,' he ventured.

Faramir chuckled.

'Aye, you did.'

Elboron looked up at him.

'So… you are not angry with me? Or upset?'

Faramir shook his head.

'No, I am not, child,' he said simply.

The relief was so enormous that he thought he might fall down. He took several gulping breaths, and then his father took him in his arms, and he suddenly started to cry, sobbing loudly into Faramir's tunic.

Faramir picked him up and sat on the bed, stroking his tousled hair. Gradually, the sobbing quieted, but Elboron still clung to him as tightly as he could. The door opened, and there stood Éowyn, her expression questioning; but upon exchanging a glance with her husband, who shook his head slightly, she smiled, nodded, and was gone.

* * *

Éowyn stood behind a door having opened it just a little. She was grinning so widely her cheeks hurt.

Inside, Ithilwen was making a perfect imitation of the Houses of Healing. The girl's impressions were still very fresh and strong, and now Elboron was obediently playing ill while she was spoonfeeding him something from a big mug. From the orange smudges on Elboron's face and Ithilwen's hands, Éowyn suspected it was apricot jam.

Now the girl stepped back and placed both hands on her hips, cocking her head. Éowyn clapped a hand to her mouth for fear of laughing out loud and startling them, so perfectly did her daughter copy the stance and expression of any nurse from the Houses.

'Two more days in bed, no cold drinks, and take this two times a day,' Ithilwen proclaimed. Éowyn heard a soft chuckle behind her, and an instant later, Faramir's arm was around her waist.

'I never tire of wondering how she can make him do whatever she wants,' he whispered.

'She merely has…a way with people,' Éowyn smiled. 'That must run in the family.'

'Aye, on her father's side,' Faramir agreed.

'That is true,' his lady laughed.

The children heard them and stopped their play. Elboron sat on the bed watching Faramir and Éowyn warily. Ithilwen squealed and threw herself at Faramir first, then wrapped one arm around each of her parents' necks and sighed contentedly. Having them both to herself at this time of the day was highly unusual, and she was more than happy at that, although Father was holding her a little awkwardly, with only one arm, the other behind his back.

'Elboron, come here,' Faramir said.

He did so, and then…there was the Horn of Gondor, in his father's hand, with a new streak of silver and a slight smell of the Queen's scented candles…

Elboron's hand jerked back halfway to the Horn. He looked up to meet the smiling eyes of his father.

'Will you… will you take it back to the office now?' he asked hesitantly.

'No,' Faramir said. '_You_ will.'

Elboron gave a little gasp, but finally took the Horn and pressed it to his chest immediately.

'You… you are not coming with me, Father?' he managed.

'I trust you can do it without me, son.'

Saying that, he squeezed Elboron's shoulder lightly and smiled at him again. Elboron swallowed hard and looked at his mother… she was smiling too, head cocked slightly to the side. Finally, he looked at Ithilwen and saw that there was a broad grin on her round face as well.

Grinning back at them all, he hugged the Horn tighter and marched into the hallway.

* * *

At the entrance to the office, there was a solemn and pale Eldarion, fidgeting with his belt. Upon seeing his friend, he brightened immediately and ran up to him.

'My father had the Horn mended,' Elboron informed him.

Eldarion only nodded, relief plain on his face.

'Come, help me,' Elboron commanded.

They hurried into the office. While Elboron stood holding the Horn, Eldarion dragged a chair to the shelf. The Steward's son handed him the heirloom and climbed onto the chair, then took the Horn and placed it in its old place with utmost care.

Most unusually silent, they stood there awhile, until Elboron sighed contentedly, turned on his heels, and headed for the door. Eldarion followed.

They made their way to the Queen's garden and there were greeted by the sight of Faramir and Ithilwen sitting on the grass.

Before anyone could say anything, the little girl suddenly flashed them a grin, leaped into the air and dashed off, crying out 'Catch me!' Elboron and Eldarion gave something that sounded distinctly like a battle cry and were gone in a split second.

And the soft laughter of the Steward of Gondor followed them along the sunlit path.

* * *

_The End_

_19 February – 19 March 2006_

_Thank you for the reviews you left me – I believe I replied to every signed one. I'm glad you liked my little story!_


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